The Would-Be Runner and the Pox on Her House

Once upon a time, there was a very out of shape old lady who decided to take up running.  She joined a group, bought some really ugly shoes, started a blog, purchased an iPod and many songs from iTunes, and she began a running program.  She even signed up for a 5K that would take place many, many weeks in the future.

She walked and ran.  She sweated.  She huffed and puffed, and she might have said some really ugly words under her breath.  She definitely said some of them right out loud.  But she stuck to the program for several weeks, and she started to feel a tad bit proud of herself.

And then she missed a week because a couple of real-life road bumps got in the way.  There were issues with work.  The father-in-law had surgery to repair an abdominal aneurysm.  Her mother needed some help with a few things.

Then she missed the next week and a half because a pox fell upon her house.  The husband and two boys were sniffling and coughing and moaning and groaning, so she stayed close to home and wiped noses, soothed coughs and sore throats, picked up mountains of icky Kleenex from every surface imaginable, and made all sorts of soups and comfort food.

As her people started to see the light at the end of the proverbial tunnel, the very out of shape old lady (VOOSOL) noticed a slight itching of the throat, the stuffiness of the nose, and the beginnings of a headache that would last for four days.

And the VOOSOL knew that the pox was all up in her grill, as she's heard some of the younger folks say.

After a sinus cocktail shot, a mighty round of antibiotics, and nearly ten days of feeling like her head was stuffed with wool and rocks, the VOOSOL felt alive enough to lace up her ugly shoes, snap on her new iPod, and hit the pavement again.

It wasn't pretty, not that it ever was, but she threw caution to the wind.  She walked a little and then ran until she couldn't run another step, and continued the pattern  until the 30 minutes were blessedly over.  She stretched and said a few ugly words out loud...just for good measure.

The VOOSOL learned that she very much disliked NOT being able to run.  She even felt a little guilty.  And she realized that while she is not yet what one would call a proper runner, she will be one eventually.

So, in the end, the very out of shape old lady bought a few more songs for the iPod, washed and folded the running clothes, and put them (along with the really ugly shoes) on top of the dresser...all ready to go for the next run.

The End.

When Life Gets in the Way

Oh...sometimes life gets in the way, and this week has proved it.  No run/walks so far, and it's Saturday morning.

Tuesday's answer to running/walking was a big NO, and then Thursday afternoon turned into 93 different kinds of crazy.

I was really looking forward to Thursday's session since I missed it Tuesday, but I spent Thursday afternoon making sub plans and getting everything ready to be off Friday.  I am not kidding when I say that it's usually not worth it to miss school because preparing for a substitute takes a sweet forever.

Our boys' school was holding parent/teacher conferences Friday (which meant no school for them), and I originally scheduled our appointments for early in the morning so that I could attend without taking a half-day off of work.  David was going to go to the conferences with me and then stay home with the boys and do lots of father-son stuff, like sit on the couch all day playing games and watching various sports channels while eating nothing but junk and making gross noises that daddies and little boys think are hysterical.

However, as it turns out, we learned that David's dad would have surgery Friday morning to repair an abdominal aneurysm.  (The surgery went quite well and we expect him to make a speedy recovery.  Whew!)

So, I booked a sub for Friday, and and after a couple of hours of getting sub plans written, pulling materials, and making copies, it was 6:30 before I was ready to leave school Thursday afternoon, and by that time the running club was long gone.  Not to mention the fact that my people were still 30 minutes away and HUNGRY.  I packed it up and called it a day, feeling very sad (and, perhaps, a little grouchy) that day two had now been missed.

We went to the conferences Friday morning and then headed out for the rest of the day.  David's dad's surgery was in Jackson, Tennessee, about 80-90 minutes from Memphis, and our hometown is in between here and there.  David dropped the boys and me off at my mother's house and then went on to the hospital.  We figured that the last thing the patient needed was two young boys crawling all over the bed with him, which is exactly what these two would prefer to do.

The boys and I piddled around at Mama's house and ran some errands with her and then spent most of the afternoon curled up on the floor in front of the fireplace.  Memphis (and the southern United States) has had unusually warm weather the last week or two, but it finally cooled off again and I don't think the temperatures rose above 35 degrees yesterday. (I suppose I could've worked in a session while we were there, but the world's best fireplace and two snuggly boys won out.  I'm only human, after all.)

Today's the day, though, that I'll get back to it.  It's only been three weeks and I'm not even running for very long stretches at a time, but I am hooked.  Hooked, I say!  After B's last basketball game of the season, I'm headed to the track later today and I cannot wait.

Dust in My Brakes and The Missed Session -- What Do I Do Now?

Forgive me, running gods, for I have missed a session.

I was supposed to start the 4th week this afternoon, but I had to miss out.  My very old Volvo station wagon, complete with the faded bumper and scratch down one side, was partly to blame.  When we were off for Martin Luther King day on the 19th, I took old Velma in for her 135,000-mile checkup.  In addition to all of the regular stuff, like changing the oil and topping off fluids, Velma had to have new rear brakes, pads, and rotors.  Ouch.

The next day I noticed a faint whistling sound as I was driving to work.  Then it got louder and was accompanied by a hum and a squeak.  Man, I thought.  That car coming up behind me is in bad shape.

Yeah, there was no car behind me.  I was the one in bad shape.

I drove Velma back to the dealership before school the next morning and my best-friend-Bob (that's what I call the service manager at the dealership because we've spent so much time together over the years) said the mechanic had figured out what the problem was.  He may have used more technical language, but some thingamadigger on part of the engine whatchamacallit had either come loose or broken altogether.  I can't say for sure.  Whenever my best-friend-Bob talks to me of mechanical things, my eyes glaze over and I hear sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.  I really appreciate the effort he puts into his explanations, but they clearly have no meaning for me other than THIS IS GOING TO COST YOU AND THANK YOU FOR MY FAMILY'S SKI TRIP THIS WINTER.

Anyway, he had to order the part and said it was not a big deal to fix, he'd call when he had the new whizbanger, and that it was perfectly fine to drive until then.  So Velma and I squeaked along to work and tootled around for several days.

David (the husband) was nice enough to take my car yesterday to have the flibbity-gibbit replaced and then texted me to say that Velma was fixed, meaning that she (sadly) would not be able to have any more baby Volvos.  Haha!  Well...she is pretty old.

Then today, imagine my horror when, after getting about halfway to the boys' school -- and more than 30 minutes away from mine, I heard a familiar whistle...and then an oddly recognizable squeak that turned into full-blown squawking and screeching by the time I pulled into my school's parking lot.  I was pretty sure that Velma's stitches had come loose.

My best-friend-Bob, whose number is on speed dial now, said to bring her back in this afternoon.  The only problem with that is that my school is a late school, meaning that we don't dismiss until 4:00 and it's about 4:20 before I can leave.  And that's on a good day.  In order for someone to look at my car, I had to have it there by 5:00, and it's about a 30-minute drive to the dealership.  I was pushing it to get it there in time for a mechanic to look at it, and the thing that irritated me more than having to take my car in for the third time in eight days  was the fact that I was going to miss my training session.

It's like I don't even know myself anymore.

Anyway, after a test run and a quick date with my-other-best-friend-Thomas-the-mechanic, the problem all came down to dust and grit, a little bit of which had gotten stuck between the brake pad and whatever is next to the brake pad.  The brake?  The rotor?  The spark plugs?  The spare tire?  I really have no idea.

By 5:20, I was on my way to our older son's basketball practice and once again GIDDY because, hello -- indoor track around the basketball courts!  I was back on track (literally) for my training session.  I even beat David and the boys to the school gym and was already changed by the time they walked in, at which point David said, "I need you to go straight home.  Duke (our nine-year-old yellow lab) got sick all over the kitchen right before we left.  I cleaned most of it up, but you've got to go check on him."  (Oh, and finish the clean-up.)

I don't blame him at all for pushing that one off on someone else, and he had certainly taken care of the brunt of it while trying to get two children ready and out the door to practice on time.  I'm really not complaining about that part.  And if Duke, the sweet yellow angel, was sick I didn't want him to be alone.

But, oh-my-stinking-heck, I missed my session.  There was no chance of getting it in after supper and the boys'  bedtime because, um, well...it's cold and dark.  I'm not necessarily afraid of running around our neighborhood at night because let's face it.  If anyone made the mistake of coming after me, I swear they'd return me quicker than you can say that's one mean woman.  But David sort of frowns upon my roaming around at night, so I let it go.

What to do?

I haven't run since Saturday afternoon, so now I have three consecutive rest days hanging over me.  It's not like I've built up that much stamina, and week 4 calls for me to run a few five-minute stretches.  That's not a lot, I realize, for most people, but I know that the first day of this week will be a struggle.

The next opportunity I'll have to work in a session is Thursday afternoon.  Should I just repeat last week's plan this Thursday and Saturday and then pick up with week 4 next week?  Or do I go for broke and try to do week 4's plan this Thursday, Saturday, and Sunday?

I'm One of Those People

NOTE:  I've been writing this post since Thursday, but I made the horrible mistake of trying to post while catching up on a couple of episodes of Downton Abbey.  Try as I may, I can't concentrate on anything other than Maggie Smith and all my other fictional best friends living across the pond.  It occurred to me that if someone would pull a little wagon with a TV playing Downton Abbey episodes in front of me when I'm trying to get through a session, I could run to Nashville and back.  I finally gave up trying to write anything, because nothing I'll write is more interesting than (a) the dilemma surrounding Lady Edith and Marigold, (b) Lady Mary's decision to go away with her suitor, (c) any scene in which Isis makes an appearance, and (d) well, almost anything else in the world.  (And the people said Amen.)


What a difference a day makes.

I still have no idea what happened Tuesday, but Thursday afternoon was much better.  My knees were still a little sore, but not so bothersome that I wanted to duck out of giving it another go.

My coach, Tammy, caught up with me just as the first 90-second run started and she stayed with me for about 10 minutes.  I don't even know how to explain how helpful it was to have her run and walk along with me.  We talked a little about Tuesday's disaster, and she asked about my pacing and if I thought I might have been trying to run a little too fast.  I think she might have nailed the problem on the head...or the knee, perhaps.

While Tammy and I were running and walking, we were able to carry on a conversation (even though I was huffing and puffing toward the end way more than she was), which I know means that the pace was about right.  When I was trying to chug around the track Tuesday, I couldn't have spoken my full name, much less carried on a conversation.  Thursday was much different.  Running the 90-second intervals were easier than the week before, and the three-minute intervals weren't so difficult.

If you've always been a runner, or if you were able to just go out one day and run five miles, then WOW --- you are my hero.  I wish I were one of those people.  You know, the ones who say, "Well, I just decided to start running one day and 12 days later I ran my first marathon.  And I won my age group.  And I didn't have any blisters, and none of my toenails turned black and fell off."

Clearly, I am not one of those people.

I'm one of those people who has to build up to running any respectable amount of time.  I'm one of those people who'll have to follow the training plan Tammy created for me.  I'm one of those people who'll have to focus on one week at a time.  I'm one of those people who'll probably struggle here and there to run the 5K I've signed up for in May.  I'm one of those people who may crawl across the finish line.  And I very well may be one of those people who looks like a goat running through a turnip patch.

But I hope I'll be one of those people who thought she couldn't stick with it and then proves herself wrong.

The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day...With a Side of Scarlett O'Hara

I've channeled my very own Alexander.

Today was Week 3, Day 1.  The plan?  After a brisk 5-minute warm-up walk, run for 90 seconds, walk for 90 seconds, run for three minutes, walk for 3 minutes, and repeat the walk/run cycle until it's time to cool down with a 5-minute walk.

I think it should've been fairly simple.  But it was awful.  The 90/90 part wasn't bad, but as I started the first three-minute run it was as though I had immediately stepped into a huge pool of quicksand.  Not only did I have NO energy, but I felt like I had strapped an extra 30 pounds to each leg.  Plus, the insides of my knees felt weak, if that makes any sense.  It was just an awful feeling.

I ran the three minutes, listening to my iPod as Katy Perry told me I was a firework, and tried to figure out why this was harder than easier.  Shouldn't it get easier as the weeks go along?  I'm following the training plan.  I'm watching what I eat (before today's walk/run: banana, whole grain toast, Lean Cuisine lunch, 1/2 grapefruit, raw sweet peppers, 4 peanut butter crackers).  Other than one cup of coffee (okay, sometimes two) in the morning I only drink water, and I drink a lot of it.

I've heard of marathon runners hitting wall somewhere late in the race, but a new runner feeling like she's pulling an elephant behind her as she runs for ONLY three minutes?  I could not have felt more like a loser if someone had hung a sign around my neck.  By the time the second 3-minute interval rolled around, I could only run for about two and a half minutes.  I was  convinced that I was running in slow motion.

If this had been an actual race, I would've quoted Erma Bombeck:  I'm so far behind, I think I'm first.

I finished my 30 minutes, got in my car, and once I reached the highway for my half hour commute home, I just cried.  Other than my pride, nothing was really hurt.  But it's a mean old slap in the face to realize that what probably would've been easy in my 20s or 30s is not so easy in my 40s.

In all honesty, I'm discouraged.  And maybe a little mad.  And I'm a whole lot embarrassed  because there were people behind me who had to see me trudge around the track in such a frightening state.  Let's face it...you can't unsee that.

But I'm still determined.

So it's all very well that, like Alexander, I had a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  But, as we all learned from Scarlett O'Hara, I just won't worry about that right now.  Why, I'll whip up some new running clothes from the draperies in the parlor windows, and I'll think about it tomorrow.

Oh, iPod Shuffle, Where Have You Been All My Life?

I'll be the first one to admit that I am not what you would call tech-savvy.  In fact, the technology is kind of a boogie-man to me.  I'm still afraid that I'm going to break the internet, so I have been very wary of doing anything thing like downloading or syncing or hacking.  So it stands to reason that I have not bothered with purchasing fancy gadgets like the iPod until now.

Well, guess what?

I have been downloading and syncing like a maniac since my very sassy, pink, engraved (One step at a time), scrabble tile-sized iPod arrived on our doorstep last week.

And it only took me four days to figure out how to get the songs I bought from iTunes onto the actual iPod.  I am clearly a technological genius.  (And to think that at one point MANY years ago I told my college roommate's boyfriend, who was a computer engineering major, that this whole "home computer" and "email" business that he kept preaching about was just a fad...much like the pet rock.  I am sure he's glad he didn't listen to me since he goes to work every day at Lockheed Martin.)

Anyway, I didn't go for a walk/run today because I was held hostage by a small mountain of laundry to be ironed AND I had to take my very old nerd station wagon in for its 135,000-mile service checkup.  (I'm not sure what was more painful...ironing for two hours straight or writing a check to the Volvo service department for an amount that is most definitely more than my car's value.)

But I digress.

I did listen to my playlist while I ironed and I was as happy as, well, as happy as you can be while ironing.  I may have copped a little attitude while Kelly Clarkson sang "Since You've Been Gone" and "Stronger."  I'm pretty sure that I danced around the ironing board to 10,000 Maniacs, Katy Perry, and Melissa Ethridge.  I know for certain that I rocked the air guitar with U2's "Where the Streets Have No Name."  And thanks to Blue Man Running's suggestion, I got my Elvis on with "A Little Less Conversation."  That may be my favorite song on my playlist.

I am almost giddy about tomorrow's training session, even if it means that Week 3 says I have to run for (gasp!) three minutes at a whack.  I think it's doable.  (I mean, heck.  Remember what I said about the internet and email and look what happened.)

Here's to you, little iPod.  You complete me.

The Would-Be Runner Family

Honestly, I have become the worst person in the world when it comes to taking pictures.  I think it's because I'm too busy and frazzled to stop and snap a few pictures every day, but there are some other things at play, too.

I'm not of the ALL-TECH, ALL THE TIME generation.  I learned to type on an electric typewriter.  I was well into my second job before I had a home computer.  And my first cell phone was one that lived in a bag and only came out from underneath my front seat for emergencies.

I still don't understand the need to have my cell phone on my person at all times.  I keep it handy...if you call staying in my purse "handy."  Oh, I take it out at night to charge and I use it as my alarm each morning, but I don't carry it around with me constantly like, say, a glass of wine.

Also, I still think the best pictures come from a nice and proper camera, and I haven't had one of those for years.  In fact, the last quality SLR I had used actual film.  I know, I know.  I think it's species died out when the meteor hit the earth and killed all the dinosaurs.

Plus, our boys are getting older and I don't feel the need to document every minute of every day like I did when they were babies and toddlers.  I'm afraid of being one of those parents who holds unsuspecting strangers hostage by showing them 2,308 pictures of the same thing.

"Oh, look, here's another shot of him eating sweet potatoes!"

So, I've backed off on the photo shoots.  But, for anyone who happens by the blog, I thought I could at least pull out some kind of but still stretching it recent pictures of my people.

Here are my husband and our two sons.  B is eight, and JF is five.  I won't bother you with David's age, but I will tell you that he is older than I am by several years and that's all the really matters.  Haha!  This was taken at JF's Thanksgiving play back in November.  JF's stage debut consisted of singing a couple of songs with the rest of the Junior Kindergarteners and saying a very important line, "But many of the Pilgrims got sick."  We expect Hollywood to be calling any minute now.

I can't remember when I took this one, but I think it was about a year ago.  We visited a safari park (of sorts) about 90 minutes from Memphis.

This one is a couple of years old and was taken at my mother's farm about an hour from here.  The boys love to ride her small garden tractor, and she is just the kind of grandmother who says YES way more than my brother and I ever thought she could when we were children.  (As she says, "Children could certainly be a lot less spoiled, but everyone is afraid to spank the grandmother.")  She's right. By the way, that's me in the middle, along with all of my big hair.  (My hair and its issues should have its own blog.  Night. Mare.)

Finally, here we are a couple of years ago.  It is nearly impossible for us to get a good family picture, mainly because one child or the other wants to be silly or uncooperative.  This is as good as we could manage at the time.

That's our little family.  My three fellas are mainly why I've taken up  this whole running (eventually) thing.  I'd like to improve my health.  I'd like for it to be a stress reliever so that I'm not so quick to be cranky.  (And let me tell you...I can get mighty cranky mighty quickly.)  I'd like our boys to see me set a goal and reach it, even when it's hard and takes extra effort.

Welcome to the Would-Be family, folks.